


If at first you don’t succeed . . .

by Avocados-in-Love (Zorro_sci)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non Season 2 Compliant, character death is temporary, some nebulous time after season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-04 08:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16343105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zorro_sci/pseuds/Avocados-in-Love
Summary: If only Matt had a second chance.  He'd do anything to be able to replay the day, and fix his mistakes; to have Foggy back.He slipped into unconsciousness sobbing, and praying that the day was just a horrible nightmare.





	1. The Worst Day

**Author's Note:**

> Happy season 3 to all.
> 
> In response to this prompt from Daredevil Kink: https://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/8773.html?thread=17698373#cmt17698373

Matt curled into a ball on the cot in his jail cell. The clothes they had put him in were an itchy polyester blend, (his suit was evidence, so they took it from him as soon as they booked him). The sheets were scratchy, pilled, and smelled like dirt and sweat, having only been half-washed in an overloaded, industrial washer. The cell itself reeked of piss, but none of that mattered. Nothing did anymore.

If anything, the physical discomfort was welcomed, because it distracted him, if only a little, from the anguish in his heart. It detoured his mind through thoughts about how infrequently the last user of the sheets had bathed; away from remembrances of the feeling of warm, precious blood coating his hands, the stuttered sigh of a final breath, and the fading last beat of a beloved heart. For thirty blessed seconds, he was allowed to think about something other than the death of his sunshine.

The relief was only momentary. Then the pain came back so acutely, Matt felt like he was going to break in two. 

How could he go on without the only good thing in his world? The one person who grounded him? How could he be breathing, when he had caused the death of the best person he knew? 

( _Because I'm being punished,_ he thought. _Letting me live is much crueler. Making me face the fact that **I** did this. _

_Waking up each morning, knowing that he died not knowing what he meant to me, and it was all my fault._ )

~~~~~

_They'd argued the night before. Matt had stumbled home after his patrol, or rather he'd fallen into Foggy's apartment. His head had been a bit scrambled, and it had thrown off his sense of direction. Which led to him climbing through Foggy's window at nearly midnight, because he'd navigated using Foggy's heartbeat. That sound was the epitome of home, right? In his mind, and in his heart, that's what Foggy had always been to him._

_Foggy had patched him up, but he had been noticeably nervous and fidgety the whole time. Finally, he couldn't hold in his concern, and he had told Matt that he was worried that Matt was going to get himself killed._

_Like usual, Matt pushed back. He wasn't overly concerned about that. He knew it was a possibility, but he felt like the reward outweighed the risk, and besides, he was careful._

_That wasn't enough for Foggy, who was relentless in his questions. What about their responsibility to their clients? What about his responsibilities to Foggy and their firm? What if he got too tired and got sloppy? What if he got caught? What would happen to their firm then? What if they arrested Foggy too? What if one of his enemies learned who he was? What if they went after him while he was going about his day? What if they went after Karen? What if they went after Foggy?_

_Foggy brought up things Matt didn't want to think about, and pressed on every soft, bruised spot in Matt's heart. It made him feel unsteady and hurt, so he lashed out. He made accusations that Foggy didn't care about anyone but himself, (lie), and that Foggy was part of the problem because he was unwilling to do anything in the face of evil, (lie). He even called him "heartless," (huge lie; Foggy had the biggest heart of anyone he'd ever met)._

_"Heartless, huh?" Foggy had replied, his voice sounding stung. "Sometimes I which I were. It might be easier . . .Do you know what it's like to love someone who seems to be hell-bent on getting himself killed, Matty?"_

_Matt had just spluttered in response, unsure what to say, ( **Fool! You should have hugged him as tightly as possible, and told him that you loved him too! Then apologized a million times for hurting him.** )._

_Foggy had told Matt he could stay on the couch, and then hastily excused himself to his bedroom. A retreat that was quickly followed by the sound of Foggy whisper-scolding himself for being an idiot, and then tears. All of which was too much for Matt. He couldn't listen to that, and do nothing, but he also didn't think that Foggy wanted him to interfere; so he fled out the window._

_The following morning, Matt brewed extra strong coffee, and left his apartment by seven am. Foggy had thrown out accusations about Matt's tardiness and general unreliability in the office, so he decided to make a point out of being early for work. Only, Foggy wasn't there when he arrived, but, no matter, he would have the joy of Foggy finding him already there and working when he showed up at starting time._

_Matt started some paperwork, (because he honestly had fallen a bit behind), but when he took a break what felt like quite a while later, Foggy still wasn't in the office. A time check showed that it was ten o'clock, a good hour into the workday._

_Matt's first reaction was to feel smug that Foggy was late after scolding him about just that the night before. The feeling was short-lived though, and quickly followed by worry. Foggy was never late. Not without calling first._

_There were no messages on his phone when he re-checked; not to explain Foggy's absence or inform Matt he was starting his day elsewhere to get files from the police station, or collect witness statements, or whatever else he might be doing that was work-related but not at the office. He asked Karen if Foggy had told her about any such plans, but she hadn't heard from him either._

_With a growing sense of unease in his gut, Matt tried calling Foggy, but he didn't answer. That was a real cause for concern. Foggy never ignored his calls._

_He was ready to rush out of the office to search for his missing friend, when a client walked through the door for their appointment. An appointment Matt needed to keep, despite how everything in him screamed that he should be looking for Foggy._

_Matt white-knuckled his way through the meeting, forcing himself to pay attention. He advised his client honestly and sympathetically, and hoped that they couldn't see just how anxious he was to leave. If they noticed, they at least didn't comment on it, and what felt like an eternity later, they finally left._

_When a second check with Karen revealed that there was still no word from Foggy, he charged out of the office door, ignoring her concerned questions as he left. Then he made a beeline for Foggy's apartment._

_The apartment was empty. No Foggy, no signs anything was amiss. In fact, it was almost suspiciously normal. A fresh coffee filter was in the trash, from a pot brewed earlier that morning. Foggy's bath towel had obviously been used earlier that morning as well. Everything seemed to indicate that Foggy had followed his normal routine, but he was nowhere to be found._

_Matt tried calling Foggy's phone again, but there was still no answer. He called Marci, Brett, and Foggy's mom, but none of them knew anything either. Where could he be?_

_Re-tracing Foggy's normal route to work, Matt found his first clue three alleyways over from Foggy's apartment. Mixed in with the normal bouquet of garbage, piss and blood was the familiar scent of **Foggy's blood**. It was no more than a few quarter-sized splats, but it was definitely there. Someone or something had made Foggy bleed in that very alley. _

_The relatively small amount of blood should have been comforting. It at least meant that when Foggy had left the alley, he had probably still been alive, but it didn't stop the panic from rising up in Matt's chest. Foggy was not only missing, he was hurt._

_People who were hurt sometimes went to the hospital, so Matt made his way to MetroGeneral._

_He made his way to the front desk, and charmed the receptionist into searching the computer system to see if a Franklin Nelson had checked-in at their hospital, or any of the others in the area. The search yielded no results, and a quick auditory scan of the heartbeats in the building told him Foggy wasn't there._

_Frustrated, he returned to the streets, merely walking up and down them, listening for Foggy's heartbeat. All to no avail._

_The sun set, and Matt returned home long enough to put on his suit. Daredevil could travel by rooftop, and that was maybe just the edge he needed. (Maybe he should have hit the rooftops sooner, secret identity be damned, but Foggy had warned him against being careless.)_

_Not long after the Devil stole off into the night, he heard a familiar heartbeat fluttering down by the docks. (Of course they brought him to the docks! That's where they do all their shady shit. Why weren't you thinking, Murdock?!?) Foggy! Finally!_

_He ran toward the familiar beat, trying to focus enough to prepare himself for what awaited him.  
Four heartbeats that didn't belong to Foggy. Angry voices, asking about Daredevil, and raining down blows when they didn't get a response. (He also smelled blood, Foggy's blood, and lots of it, but he needed to put that detail to the side for the moment. First he'd take down Foggy's attackers. Then, he could tend to Foggy's wounds.) _

_He sneaked up in the shadows, and then pounced on the men, rendering them unconscious in short order. Then, with the threat removed, he turned his focus to Foggy._

~~~~~

A new sob shook Matt's frame as he remembered what he had found. It was the last thing he wanted to think about, but he deserved this. He deserved to have to live that moment on repeat. He caused it, so this was his punishment; he shouldn't be allowed the grace of a reprieve.

~~~~~

_The scent of blood hung heavy on the air, cloying and inescapable. Matt moved closer to the scent, even as something primal in him wanted to flee. A feeling that was not at all settled by the wet, rattling breaths he heard coming from the figure he knew was Foggy._

_He pulled off his gloves, and reached out a hand cautiously. His fingers made contact with the wet fabric of a shirt, stained by blood and sweat. The touch was met with a pained groan, and Matt almost pulled back his hand like he’d been burned._

_"Matty," Foggy breathed out weakly._

_"Foggy," Matt returned, unsure he could say anything else without bursting into tears as he reached out his other hand and gently began to explore Foggy's body._

_There was so much blood. Too much blood. On Foggy's face, (which was swollen almost beyond recognition; Foggy's nose and cheekbones broken), on his chest, and on his arms and legs. Blood seeped out of scrapes and cuts caused by an extremely brutal beating. It coated his hands as he ran them over Foggy, cataloging all of his injuries, (too many! Too many!)._

_Then there were the broken bones. Four or five ribs, grinding and shifting with each labored breath Foggy took. His right collarbone, snapped like someone had stepped on it. His forearms, both covered in bruises and broken, as if he had tried to shield himself with them, and they had just rained down blows on them until the protection they offered was useless._

_Matt didn't know what to do. He didn't know where to start. There was so much damage. How could he fix this? His hands hovered over Foggy, uncertain what to tackle first. Should he try to stop the worst of the bleeding? Should he pick him up and try to carry him to the hospital, so he could get help quicker?_

_"You're going to be okay. Hold on, Foggy," he said, trying to reassure himself as much as anything._

_He heard the soft sound of Foggy shaking his head, the motion small and pained._

_"I'm not," he said simply, the words seeming to cost him a lot of effort._

_"Yes, you are! You're going to be fine! I'll make sure of it!_

_I can help you until an ambulance gets here, just tell me what to do! Fog, what can I do?" Matt babbled frantically._

_"Hold . . .me?"_

_"Of course! I can do that!"_

_Matt pulled Foggy into his arms and held him tight, sobbing as he felt a tremor run through the other man's body. He rocked them both gently, not knowing what to say. He wanted to reassure Foggy, and himself, that everything was going to be okay, but he was becoming more and more aware that that simply wasn't true. Help wasn't coming, not nearly fast enough._

_Foggy's breathing was getting slower and more ragged, and sometimes his chest was just stuttering in an ineffectual flail that provided him with no air at all. His heart was unsteady, racing chaotically and slowing to a crawl in turns, weakening with each frantic run. Pained gasps and stutters escaped him when he had the breath to make them, and convulsions racked his body in intervals._

_Through it all, Matt held him tight, making sure Foggy could feel him right there with him. He rested his forehead against Foggy's, and whispered reassuring sounds into his ear, (if he tried to speak actual words, he'd never succeed; he'd just sob uncontrollably), as he kept his tears silent. This was about Foggy; about holding him, and honoring his last request._

_Then, Foggy breathed his last, his heart stilled, and he was gone. An anguished scream filled the air, and Matt distantly realized that it was him. It was his voice crying out with a pain too acute to be expressed by anything but animalistic sounds._

_He pulled Foggy closer, and rocked the pair of them back and forth faster, as if the motion could help him run away from the feeling clawing in his chest. He cried and screamed, and kissed Foggy's forehead until a nearby sound caught his attention._

_One of the men was stirring. One of the kidnappers, the men who had taken Foggy and hurt him . . .no, **killed** him . . .was waking up._

_As soon as that thought registered, Matt was on him, raining blows on him until he was a pile of pulped flesh. Then he did the same to the other three, finishing his work as the sirens came to a stop in front of them._

_The police approached just in time to see Matt crawl back to Foggy, and collapse into a sobbing heap over him. He clung to Foggy until they pulled him off, and cuffed him. He might have been able to fight them off and escape, but what was the point? Besides, he deserved to be punished._

~~~~~

If only Matt had a second chance. He'd do anything to be able to replay the day, and fix his mistakes; to have Foggy back.

He slipped into unconsciousness sobbing, and praying that the day was just a horrible nightmare.


	2. The Worst Day: Take 2

Matt awoke with a lazy yawn and stretch, before he was hit with the horrible realization that Foggy was gone. The memory returned vividly, and Matt collapsed back onto his mattress as if struck by physical pain, trying to curl up against it in his silk sheets . . .wait, that wasn't right.

He reached out a hand and ran it over the smooth sheets that surrounded him. He wasn't on a cot covered in dirty, scratchy cotton, he was in his own bed . . .but how?

His hand fumbled to the right and found his phone on the nightstand like always. He opened it and had it read him the date and time. Five-thirty am on Friday, May 19, the day Foggy died . . .but if it was morning, then, did that mean . . .Foggy was still alive?

Matt threw on sweatpants and a hoodie, and leapt out of his window. Then he scurried across rooftops, and settled quietly outside a familiar window.

On the other side of the window, a familiar heartbeat steadily kept the peaceful rhythm of sleep; its owner snoring and mumbling contently in his bed. Foggy. He was alive; safe and sound in his apartment. Now all Matt had to do was make sure he stayed safe.

Foggy had brewed coffee and showered like normal yesterday, (today?), so he must have awoken and gotten ready for work like normal. Then, based on the blood in the alley, he had started to walk to the office, but he had been taken along the way. So, if Matt could keep Foggy from taking that route to work, or at least stop him from taking it alone, he wouldn't get kidnapped . . .and if he didn't get kidnapped, he wouldn't get beaten, and if he didn't get beaten he wouldn't . . .leave Matt. All he needed to do was convince Foggy to walk to work with him . . .and he had a plan for that.

~~~~~

**  
**  
_Knock, knock_  


"Matt?" Foggy said when he opened the door, his voice sounding scratchy and confused. "I didn't . . . You didn't stay, so I thought . . . ."

He trailed off, but moved aside so Matt could walk into the apartment. Matt seized on the opening, and pushed his offering into Foggy's hands as he passed him.

He took a moment to revel in the feel of Foggy's warm fingertips against his, and to subtly inhale the scent of Foggy/home/safe. The other man was sleep-ruffled and in his pajamas, but he was warm and alive, and Matt had to stop himself from hugging him.

"Vanilla latte and an everything bagel," he informed him as he made his way to the couch.

"Thanks," Foggy mumbled, sipping the coffee as he shut the door. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but what brought on . . ."

He shook the bag containing the bagel.

"I wanted to thank you for taking care of me last night."

"You don't need to-"

"-And apologize, for what I said . . . You're not heartless."

Foggy sighed.

"We were both jerks last night. I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me too."

Matt shook his head in confusion.

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Yes, there is, buddy. I was purposefully guilting you, which is a dick move when I _know_ just how much guilt you carry around.

So, I'm sorry."

Matt shook his head more strongly. Foggy might have been trying to make Matt feel guilty, but he had been right. His enemies _had_ somehow learned who he was, (or at least who mattered to him), and they _had_ gone after Foggy. His actions had caused Foggy to pay the ultimate price, and despite whatever miracle or magic had given him a second chance, he couldn't forget that. 

In the moment though, he needed to say something, because all of his head shaking was making Foggy nervous, (or frustrated?). The heartbeat he had been obsessively focused on all morning was starting to speed up, and Foggy was shifting his weight slightly between his feet.

"Really, Foggy, there's no need to apologize," he stressed, before pasting on a strained smile and adding, "Besides, I think if anyone could be blamed for all the guilt, it would be the nuns that raised me . . ."

"I didn't mean _all_ of the guilt . . . I just meant what I . . .you know what, you're right. I'm completely innocent in all of this. What was I thinking?!" Foggy spluttered in frustration, finishing on a strongly sarcastic note.

Matt nodded sagely, ignoring Foggy's sarcasm, "That seems right."

"Of course it does, you masochist!

I'm going to shower and get dressed, and then we can head to work."

"I'll be here waiting," Matt called from the couch.

Foggy shook his head and huffed, but got on with his morning routine. Matt, for his part, tuned in intently to the whole process. 

The water bounced off of Foggy's body in the shower, lighting him up brightly in Matt's world-on-fire. Then there was the scent of Foggy's shampoo, conditioner and body wash wafting through the air; a fresh layer of home/safe/Foggy being applied over his friend's natural scent. Foggy hummed softly as he showered, his voice quiet and slightly off-key, but Matt couldn't help but smile. It was perfect. A masterpiece driven by the rhythm of Foggy's content heartbeat. Matt could listen all day, and never grow tired of the sound. It meant home/safe/Foggy just as much as the bouquet of smells that Matt was breathing in like he had finally surfaced from being underwater too long. 

The symphony continued in the form of the slick of a comb through wet hair, the scrap of a razor against stubbly skin, and the rustle of cotton and polyester being tugged on and secured into place. There was tying and zipping, and finally the thump of shoed feet approaching Matt.

"Shall we?" Foggy asked, tapping Matt's elbow and extending his own.

"Why not?" Matt acquiesced as he took the offered arm and rose to his feet.

The pair easily navigated their way to the office, (and if Matt steered them away from the alley, claiming it smelled horribly and suggesting an alternate route; well, Foggy didn't need to know the real reason for Matt's avoidance), chatting idly the whole way.

In no time at all, they walked through the beat-up front door of their office, both of them safe and sound, and Matt couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh.

"Good morning," Karen chirped from her desk.

Matt and Foggy returned her greeting, and then Matt had to force himself to let go off Foggy's arm, and let him go to his own office.

It was ridiculous that he was so reluctant to let him go; the other man was only going to be across their small office. He was easily within range of Matt's senses, and it would be nearly impossible for someone to breach their office without Matt knowing. Furthermore, even if someone did enter the office with malicious intent, they'd never be able to get to Foggy before he could intervene. He could cut someone off before they reached Foggy's office from the front door, and he would. No one would get to Foggy's office unaccompanied, even if it was a potential client. After last night, (the night that didn't happen? . . .whatever), it was only smart to meet everyone who came through the door before letting them be near Foggy. . .and if he heard even the slightest hint of someone trying to get in through a window, he would punch the window-entering intruder first, and ask questions later.

Despite Matt's nerves, it really was just another day at the office. They took three client meetings, (one appointment and two afternoon walk in’s), did paperwork, (Matt once again tried to catch up, but his process was hampered by always keeping half of his mind monitoring Foggy and the security of the office), took a lunch break at the Chinese restaurant down the street, and did research for their upcoming cases like any other day. To Foggy and Karen, it probably was just another day, but it couldn't be just another day to Matt.

This was the day that Foggy had died, and every moment that Matt passed with Foggy safe in his presence, felt like a miracle. It was another sign that Foggy wasn't getting beaten and tortured, and Matt might end the day with everything he had pleaded for in his cell; a second chance that ended with Foggy alive and well.

The work day came to a close, and Matt insisted on walking home with Foggy. He strong-armed his way into staying over for dinner, and cooking for Foggy. (No delivery people. Besides, Foggy could use more vegetables in his diet, and Matt had just the recipe to achieve that). Then they watched videos and talked until Foggy was ready for bed.

Thinking that Foggy would probably be safe to sleep on his own, (especially if Matt went home and went out on patrol . . .and maybe stayed a little closer to Foggy's apartment than normal), he said goodnight and returned to his apartment. Then he put on the Daredevil armor, and stalked back into the night ready to do two things: one, determine if whoever took Foggy on the-day-that-no-longer-was was still trying to find him, and two, guard what was his.

It was only after Matt started listening for Foggy's kidnappers that he realized that he didn't remember anything about them, (except the rage he felt toward them). He'd been too distracted to take note of their voices or anything else that might identify them. 

He combed his memory, but there were still no details. There had been four men, and they were yelling, but their voices were just generic noise in his mind. That and the feel of their bodies giving way under his hands were all he recalled.

A clattering pulled Matt from his thoughts. Two men were climbing the fire escape on Foggy’s building. It could be a coincidence, but it didn’t seem likely.

Matt jumped across the alley and onto the roof of Foggy’s building, and started down the fire escape. He met up with the men making their way up, two floors below Foggy’s window.

“Nice night, huh?” Matt started conversationally. “What are you doing out on the fire escape tonight? Forget your keys? Which apartment is yours?”

The men froze, and faced him, barely moving.

“Implement plan B,” one of them said apropos of nothing.

“What?”

Two shots rang out in the night, making Matt’s blood run cold. There were only two men on the fire escape. Yesterday there had been four. The men on the fire escape hadn’t been the only ones there.

“Hear that Daredevil?” one of the men sneered. “That means your little friend is dead. He really should have known better than to let the Devil in. It only ever leads to death and damnation.”

Matt stood frozen, heart pounding, trying to decide if he should throw these men over the railing to the concrete below, or just _run_ to Foggy as fast as possible.

“We would have preferred to take him alive, of course,” said the second man. “Maybe get some information from him first . . .but this will have to do.”

A roar escaped Matt as he lashed out at them. They were expecting it, and tried to avoid him, but it didn’t matter. He was a tidal wave of rage, and there was no escape. He rained down blows on them until they both lay unconscious on the ground, and then he clambered up to Foggy’s window.

As he disabled the latch, he tried to convince himself he couldn’t hear Foggy’s heartbeat because his own blood was rushing so loudly he could hardly hear anything else. His heart was just pounding too damn loud, but once he got closer, he would be able to sense Foggy. He just needed to get into the apartment. (He was lying to himself; he could always hear Foggy’s heartbeat from this close. Always. If he couldn’t hear it now, it meant . . .)

He stumbled in through the window, and was assaulted by the heavy scent of blood. It hung on the air, poisoning each breath Matt took with the knowledge that there was just too much of it. No one could lose that much and . . .

Pushing the thought aside, he walked through the empty bedroom and into the living room, only to stop short just two steps out of the doorway.

The thing was, he already knew. He’d known from the moment he’d heard the gunshots what he would find, but experiencing it was so much worse than he could ever have imagined.

He collapsed to the ground next to the place where the concentration of blood was the thickest, right next to the ominously silent, cooling flame sprawled on the floor. He pulled off his gloves, and reached out a shaking hand to gently touch the figure in front of him. Two holes in his chest. Skin cooling. Eyes open.

A ragged sob yanked itself from Matt’s throat. Foggy. He pulled his friend’s body to his chest, but when Foggy hit the hardness of Matt’s body armor, he was struck by how wrong the situation was. Foggy had hated Daredevil, and Daredevil was the reason he was dead. ( _‘He really should have known better than to let the Devil in.’_ Someone must have seen him go through Foggy’s window some night.) Daredevil shouldn’t be the last person to hold Foggy.

Matt tore off his mask, and threw it across the room. Then he stripped out of the suit almost violently, casting each part as far away as possible; making sure it didn’t touch Foggy. He purged himself of everything Daredevil-related, but it wasn’t enough. He still felt shaky, and angry, and everything was just too much.

He sprang to his feet, and overturned the sofa with a scream. Then he picked up the coffee table and threw it toward the front door. He screamed again, and turned to punch the wall until his fists were bloody and his rage had faded into tearful desperation.

He fell back to the floor, and crawled over to Foggy. Then he snuggled up against his side and held onto him with everything he had. All the love, and guilt, and hopeless desperation. He buried his face in Foggy’s chest and sobbed. He’d lost the most important person in his life for the second time in as many days. He’d been given a second chance, and he’d failed. Maybe if he just laid there with Foggy, everything would fade away. Maybe then he wouldn’t remember that he’d failed to protect the best man he knew, (twice!). Maybe if he laid there long enough, he wouldn’t remember anything at all.


	3. The Worst Day: Take 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt wonders if the third time’s a charm, or if it’s three strikes and you’re out.

Matt woke up crying, but he supposed that only made sense. What didn’t make sense was how soft the floor was, (he was sure he’d fallen asleep on Foggy’s living room floor). Had someone found him and moved him? He was definitely in a bed. His own bed.

A preliminary auditory sweep of his apartment showed that no one else was there. Maybe they’d left, but left him a message to call them when he woke up? He reached out for his phone to see if there were any clues as to who had relocated him to his apartment, but there were no calls or messages. Nothing, except, wait. What did it say the date was again?

“Friday, May 19,” the robotic female intoned.

May 19. Did that mean . . . Had the day repeated again? Did he have another chance?

Matt scurried out of bed and into dark clothing just like he had the previous morning. Then he jumped out of the window and approached Foggy’s building, but as he got closer, he slowed down. The men he’d faced on Foggy’s fire escape last night, (or whatever you call a night that may not have happened for anyone else), had talked about “letting the devil in”. They’d seen Daredevil around Foggy. They might be watching his apartment, and Matt lingering outside of his window certainly wouldn’t help anything.

With that in mind, he stopped a couple blocks short of Foggy’s building, and listened from the rooftop. It wasn’t as close as Matt would have liked, but from his perch he could clearly hear Foggy sleeping in his apartment. Tossing, and turning, and snoring like any other day.

Matt burst into relieved tears, and made his way back to his apartment.

Okay, so he’d been given another chance. Third time’s the charm, right? (Or three strikes and you’re out, reminded a darker part of his mind). He just needed to gather all of the information he’d learned from the last two repetitions of the day and use them to keep Foggy far, far away from anyone who might want to hurt him.

First, he knew that on day one Foggy was kidnapped on his way to work. By walking with him on the second day, and keeping him away from the place he had been kidnapped, he had been able to get Foggy to work safely on day two. No reason to change something that worked, so he needed to get to Foggy’s within the next hour.

Second, on day two, no one had tried to attack Foggy until after he was left alone. That could have been because they were waiting for the cover of darkness, but it was more likely because they were watching him, and waiting for him to be alone. Since Foggy was taken in an out-of-the-way alley on the first day, and on the second day they had been trying to take him from his apartment while he was alone, in the middle of the night, it seemed likely that his kidnappers wanted to avoid confrontation as much as possible. That implied they were watching for the opportune moment to act. Probably following Foggy and staking out his apartment. That meant the key to keeping Foggy safe was to make sure he was never alone. Matt could stay at Foggy’s apartment overnight, or bring Foggy to his apartment and have him stay there, (the downside to that, would be that Matt would need to stay in for the night. He couldn’t let them see him and Foggy go in, and then see Daredevil go out). It also meant that he should pay more attention while walking to work with Foggy to see if he could notice anyone tailing them.

Bottom line, Foggy couldn’t be alone. Not even for a minute or two. Matt was taking no chances this time. This would _not_ be strike three.

With that in mind, Matt finished getting ready at whirlwind pace, and set out for coffee and bagels, and then Foggy.

~~~~~

**  
**  
_Knock, knock_  


"Matt?" Foggy said when he opened the door. “I—“

This time, Matt didn’t wait for Foggy to step aside, or even finish his thought. He just reached out and hugged him tightly, unable to stop himself. 

The hug was probably too tight, he was squishing the bagels against Foggy’s back and in danger of spilling the coffee, but he didn’t care. Foggy was alive. He could feel Foggy’s heartbeat tapping against his chest, and that was so much better than just hearing it. He could feel the warmth of his friend’s body, his chest expanding with each breath, and the puff of each exhale against his cheek and neck. He could even feel Foggy’s muscles start to tense and shift as the hug got longer and devolved into weird territory.

“Are you okay, Matty?” he whispered into Matt’s shoulder. “Not that I don’t like hugs, or whatever, but you’re scaring me.”

Matt breathed in Foggy’s scent, trying to disguise it with a sigh, and then let go.

“I’m okay. I was just thinking about what I said, the oth- last night, and I’m really sorry. I was out of line.

You’re not selfish, or heartless. You’re the heart and soul of Nelson and Murdock.” ( _My_ heart and soul.)

Foggy scuffed his toe on the floor sheepishly.

“You’re giving me too much credit. . .and I wasn’t exactly kind last night either.”

“I’m not giving you too much credit,” Matt argued. 

“You really are. You’re the one who wanted to go off and save the world. I just followed you.

If it weren’t for you, I’d be soullessly raking in the big bucks, and screwing over the little guy.”

Matt shook his head.

“Says the guy that did Fran’s grocery shopping for six weeks after she broke her ankle last winter, lobbied St. Agnes preschool on behalf of a reformed criminal and his child, fixed Bess Mahoney’s sink and then helped her write her will a couple weekends ago, helped Josie keep her bar open by sorting out the situation with the liens, and actually rescued a little girl’s kitten from a tree in the park.”

“That’s just being a good neighbor. Just because I love the neighborhood doesn’t mean I’m a saint, or that I wouldn’t ruthless represent the highest bidder without your moral guidance.”

“Foggy, your definition of ‘neighbor’ is so inclusive that it’s only outdone by Mr. Rogers and Jesus.”

“You’re so full of shit. You know you don’t need to flatter me just because you feel bad, right? 

We were both jerks last, and I forgive you. I’m also sorry for what I said last night. You were hurt, and it was a really shitty time for me to put all of that on you.”

“It’s okay. You were worried. I understand,” Matt dismissed, and then unsure what more to say, he changed the subject. “I brought you bagels and a vanilla latte.”

He held out his offering, and Foggy took it eagerly, immediately taking a sip of the coffee.

“You’re my favorite, Murdock. Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ for taking care of me.”

“You don’t need to bribe me for that, Matt. Like I said, you’re my favorite.”

Foggy’s tone was light and fond, and so earnest. It was like he was simply speaking a known truth, even though Matt was floored by Foggy’s devotion every time. In a life marked by everyone he cared about leaving, Foggy was the exception; steady and always there. Even when he left, he always came back. 

“Thanks, Fog,” Matt whispered, unable to keep his voice from getting a little thick with emotion.

Based on the soft sound Foggy gave and the twitch in his fingers, he noticed, but he decided it was better not to say anything. Instead Matt heard his lips turn up in a big, fake-it-‘til-you-make-it smile and his fingers snap cheerily.

“I better get ready, and then I can enjoy these delicious treats on the way to work. We wouldn’t want to keep Karen waiting. We’re supposed to be the bosses. It looks bad when we’re late,” Foggy commented overly-cheerfully.

“Of course.”

Foggy walked away from the spot where he and Matt had been arguable standing too close together, (or not close enough, if one were to ask Matt), in the entryway and placed Matt’s offering on the counter. Then he made his way into the bathroom.

Matt felt bereft of Foggy’s comforting presence the second he stepped out of arm’s reach. He could still hear him, he could hear him from blocks away, and the whole apartment smelled like Foggy, but not being able to just reach out and touch Foggy made him feel twitchy and nervous. He tried to listen in on Foggy, savoring the symphony of his morning routine the way he had the day before, but it wasn’t working. He needed something more to calm his nerves.

Maybe he should sit outside the bathroom door. The increased proximity would make him feel better, even if it did make him feel slightly pathetic. He needed to get control of himself. Foggy wasn’t going to understand Matt following him around like a puppy all day, and even as patient a man as he was, he probably wouldn’t put up with it for long either.

Any thought of pulling himself together went abruptly out the window, when his path to the bathroom ended prematurely as he realized where he was standing. His feet were on top of the exact spot where . . .where Foggy had died the night before.

The thought sent him crashing to his knees, and he reached out and felt the floor looking for evidence of the nightmare that last night had been. (Logically, he knew he wouldn’t find any. Whatever happened last night had no longer happened. Today was yesterday, and the version of yesterday he’d lived no longer existed for anyone else. . .and there was something seriously wrong with his life that this now constituted “logic”.) He didn’t find anything. Not so much as an errant scuff or scratch. He had intellectually known he wouldn’t find anything, but some part of him was still surprised not to find blood or some other sign of the horror of last night, even if it never happened in this version of reality.

“Matt, what are you doing on the floor? Did you lose something?” Foggy called from the door of the bathroom.

 _You. I lost **you** , and it was terrible . . .and now I have you back, but I think I might be losing my sanity,_ Matt thought.

“Uh, no, I just tripped,” Matt excused.

Foggy made an alarmed noise, and his heart started to speed up.

“I didn’t hurt anything but my pride,” Matt hastened to add as he stood up.

“It’s still concerning that you tripped. That’s not like you. Are you okay? Is your head still scrambled from last night?”

“Yeah,” he said absently, meaning it in an entirely different way than Foggy.

An even more alarmed sound issued from Foggy.

“Okay, I know you don’t like doctors, and hospitals, and all of that, but maybe you should see one. If you hit your head hard enough that it’s still affecting your balance, that’s really concerning. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Matt shook his head.

“No, Foggy, I’m fine. I meant ‘yeah, I’m okay’, not ‘yeah my head is scrambled’. Really, I just wasn’t paying attention, and I caught my toe on the edge of the rug under your coffee table. It’s more because I’m tired than anything else.”

“If you’re sure . . .”

“I am. I had no trouble getting here. I promise. My head is fine.”

He made an exaggerated crossing motion over his heart, and Foggy chuckled, though somewhat humorlessly.

“If you say so . . .but, if you’re that tired, maybe you should go home and sleep for a few hours. I can hold down the fort until then.”

Matt immediately started shaking his head, but it took a few minutes for an argument to come to him. 

“Last night you said I’m always coming in late, and pretending like it’s no big deal. I’m not going to keep doing that to you. You’re right, I haven’t been pulling my weight as a partner, and being tired is no excuse for abandoning you and our firm.”

“I wasn’t right. I was being an asshole. 

Yeah, it bothers me a little that being late has become a habit for you, but I guess if the alternative is having you hurt yourself because you’re too tired to function, I’d rather you were late. Anything to keep you safe, buddy.”

 _No,_ Matt thought. _Anything to keep **you** safe, Foggy. I can’t lose you again._

“I’ll be perfectly safe at our office, _and_ I’ll get work done.

Besides, I already made it this far, and I’ll have you with me the rest of the way. You’d never let me walk into an open manhole or anything, so I’ll be in good hands.”

Foggy seemed to be relenting. His shoulders started to relax, and he took a few steps toward his bedroom, but then he hesitated.

“You’re not really in danger of falling down a manhole, are you? Because, if you’re—“

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. I’ll get dressed, and then we’ll go. . .honestly, I probably should have gotten dressed before we had this conversation. It’s a little weird to have a conversation with your best bud while wearing nothing but a towel, even if said best bud can only sorta see, but you worry me, man. It didn’t seem like it could wait.”

“I’m fine, really. 

Now go get dressed. Towels are not professional wear. They’re strictly against the Nelson and Murdock office dress code.”

“I’ll have you know, this is a very classy towel,” Foggy joked as he walked into his bedroom. 

From behind his closed door he added, “And who let the blind man make the company dress code?”

“Who else would have done it?” Matt called back; trying to sink into the comfort of bantering with Foggy.

“The partner with working eyes?”

“Not when that partner has your dress sense.”

“Rude! I’m a very snappy dresser.”

“‘Snappy dresser’? I rest my case. Anyone who uses that language is clearly a couple of decades behind in their fashion sense.”

“What would you know about fashion?!”

“I know that your suits are cheap polyester blends, and even if I couldn’t tell, I’ve heard all of Marci’s complaints about them, and her pleas for you to go shopping with her so she can fix your ‘fashion disaster’. Apparently, she also thinks your ties are tacky, and too many of your shirts are pink.”

“First of all, you don’t even like Marci, so why do you care what she thinks?

Second, we can’t all afford designer suits.”

“Marci is fine,” Matt said neutrally, (it was mostly true), “And how do you explain the ties and shirts?”

“I can rock a pink shirt, thank you very much, and my ties might not be silk or brand name, but they are still classy; no matter what certain ex-girlfriends of mine might say about them.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”

“You better,” Foggy jokingly admonished as he strode out of his bedroom and presented his arm to Matt. “The best friend contract is clear about whose side you need to take.”

“I’m always on your side, Foggy,” Matt said fondly.

The walk to work was uneventful. No one stood out as following them, but foot traffic was too heavy at that time of the morning to be sure. There were simply too many people to keep track of them all, and no one was behaving suspiciously enough to catch Matt’s attention.

The morning was slow, and other than their appointment with their client, Matt doubted much work got done. He kept one ear on Foggy the entire time, and sometimes stopped work altogether to give the other man his full attention and be absolutely _positive_ that he was okay. It wasn’t exactly ideal conditions for completing work.

Not to mention, this time Foggy kept checking up on him too. More than once, he heard the increase in heart rate that meant he had caught Foggy looking. Just as many times, he felt eyes on him, and didn’t bother to look up. Then there were the half dozen or so times that Foggy crossed over to his office under the pretence of asking for his opinion, (when it wasn’t really needed), or needing information, (that Matt was well aware Foggy already knew). It was sweet, and Matt knew he had no stones to throw when he was just as guilty, but it did mean that productivity took a nosedive.

After the latest trip over to Matt’s office, Karen followed Foggy back into his office.

“You know, if you’re going to moon over him instead of working, you could at least ask him out. 

Come on, Foggy. I know how you feel about him.” Karen stated bluntly after she shut Foggy’s door behind her.

“No matter how I feel about it him, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s completely out of my league . . .and straight.”

Matt shook his head slightly as he heard the words. Wrong. On both accounts.

“He’s not out-“

_Tell him, Karen._

“You’ve seen him. He is. You know he is. 

Think about it. When you met us, were you attracted to him? Then ask yourself, were you attracted to me?”

“Foggy . . .”

Karen sounded hesitant and slightly pitying, and across the office Matt let out a soft pained sigh.

“Don’t even bother with lying. The answers to my questions are yes and no, in that order. Matt is beautiful, and I’m ‘meh’ . . .”

_There’s nothing ‘meh’ about you!_

“ . . .Add to that, that he’s not only gorgeous, he’s smart and kind, he’s principled and determined, and the type of heroic that caused him to save someone when he was still a kid. Sure, he has a temper, and he can be kinda arrogant, but he usually just turns his rage into fuel to pursue justice and he looks _good_ with a cocky smile . . .and it’s not like he doesn’t have reason to be arrogant. He’s a damn good lawyer, and just as persuasive outside of a courtroom.

Me? I’m an okay lawyer, and I’m not dumb, but I don’t know when to shut up. I’m awkward, and annoying, and I put my foot in my mouth all the time. My looks are average at best, and everything else about me is equally unremarkable. I’m nothing special.

All of which means, he’s light years out of my league.”

Matt was shell-shocked by Foggy’s words. Surely he couldn’t mean them? But Foggy’s heart beat _true, true, true_. It made Matt’s heart hurt, but no matter how hard it tried to scream back that Foggy was wrong, it didn’t matter. Foggy wasn’t the one who could hear heartbeats.

“You’re a good man, Foggy. Far better than you give yourself credit for, and I know Matt would be the first to agree . . .”

Matt nodded in his office, even though he knew neither of them could see him.

“Yeah, well, he always was a bleeding heart determined to see the best in everyone,” Foggy muttered.

Matt’s heart let out another anguished scream.

“It’s more than that. He lights up when you enter a room. I think you’re the only person I’ve ever seen make him laugh, and his smiles are only genuine when you’re around.

That has to count for something.”

A blush spread across Matt’s face. He was torn between being embarrassed that he was so obvious, and hoping that Foggy listened. Embarrassment aside, she was a right. Foggy lit up his whole life, and smiling and laughing were so much easier when his sunshine was around.

“You’re right. It means we’re best friends, but that’s why I can’t say anything. He’s straight, and the awkwardness of me asking him out might just be our undoing.

He’d try to be so nice about it, but it would be weird, and he would feel guilty, and eventually he’d start avoiding me. Which would lead to him buying me out of the practice, and I’d become unemployed. Then, my almost nonexistent income would become truly nonexistent, and I would have to beg, borrow, steal or sell my body to avoid homelessness. . . And I’d lose the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Foggy didn’t really sound like he was joking; no matter how hyperbolic his account seemed.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

Matt heard Karen cross her arms, and imagined that she was looking truly unimpressed.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Fine! Pine and be miserable! See if I care!”

“Thank you,” Foggy replied primly.

Karen muffled a frustrated sound, (so much for not caring), and though she seemed to want to say more, she turned on her heel and walked back to her own desk.

The conversation had given Matt an idea. He needed to keep Foggy with him after work, so what if he asked him out on a date? Then, he’d be able to stay close, _and_ he could refute Foggy’s poisonous belief that Matt was somehow out of his league and could never think of him that way. Plus, he’d finally get to do something he’d wanted to do for _years_.

After the nightmare of the past two days, if his plan worked, he might not only get to keep Foggy, but also get everything he ever wanted. It didn’t make the last two days worth it, he could have happily gone his whole life without knowing what it was like to witness Foggy’s last breath, but it was an appealing thought after all of the heartbreak. The question was how should he ask?

He chewed over this question for the rest of the work day, through their two walk-in clients and his futile attempts to catch up on paperwork while caught in an endless cycle of checking on Foggy and thinking of how to ask him out. Yet, he was still uncertain of what to do at the end of the work day, so he decided just to be direct.

“Foggy, would you like to go to Mario’s for dinner tonight?” he asked from the door of Foggy’s office.

“Sure! I love their breadsticks! 

Should we ask Karen if she wants to come?”

So much for the direct route. He stepped into Foggy’s office, shut the door behind him, and lowered his voice.

“Oh, um, I was thinking it could just be the two of us. . .”

“A bros’ night! Got it! It’s been a while since we had one of those.”

Matt heard Foggy smile, and he was tempted to leave it at that. It would still accomplish keeping them together for the evening . . .but he could still remember holding Foggy’s lifeless body in his arms, and it pushed him forward. Time was fleeting, and he should say what he meant.

“Yeah, but I was thinking it could be more like a . . .”

“Date?” Foggy asked cautiously.

Matt nodded; his cheeks coloring.

“You overheard my conversation with Karen, didn’t you?” Foggy asked flatly.

“Yes,” he admitted carefully, before hastening to add, “but I-“

“I don’t need your pity, Matt.”

“This isn’t pity!”

“You’re straight!”

“I’m not!”

“Really? Because the string of very hot woman you’ve dated, with not a single man among them, begs to differ.”

“I’m bisexual, but it took me a long time to realize it. I spent my teens in a Catholic orphanage. To say I was sexually repressed, would be a huge understatement.

There were times, when I would have fleeting thoughts about other boys in the wing, even then, but I figured that was because we basically lived on top of each other, and you know how teenage boys are. . .and with my senses . . .”

Foggy made a noise of understanding, before he pushed back, “Okay, but what about the years after you escaped the nuns? College, law school, the years since then?

Ten years, and not a single man.”

“Well, by the time I realized I was bi, I had met you . . .and, to be honest, no other man ever compared.

I made out with a couple of guys at parties junior and senior year of undergrad, but I just ended up thinking about _you_ the whole time, so I decided it was pointless to pursue men unless I had a chance with the one I really wanted.”

“So you’ve wanted me since college, but you never said anything?”

Foggy sounded dubious, and Matt was feeling frustrated, so he couldn’t stop the defensive response that popped out of his mouth.

“You didn’t say anything either!”

“Well, yeah, I thought you were straight. . .but you knew I wasn’t.

You also knew that I was into you. I hit on you!”

“The first day we met! I was still so far in the closet then, that I was in Narnia!

It took me a couple years to figure out that I was attracted to you. That I could even be attracted to a man at all! The problem was, by the time I realized that, you had stopped showing any signs of attraction around me, **_and_** you were my best friend. The _only_ real friend I’d ever had. The idea of losing you over a misplaced crush was terrifying, so I didn’t say anything.”

Foggy took a shaky breath. His heart was pounding, and his body trembled slightly.

“Okay,” he said overly brightly; his mouth turning up into his best fake-it-‘til-you-make-it smile. “Then let’s go eat pasta.”

~~~~~

“Mmm . . .they do ravioli right!” Foggy sighed contentedly. “The only downside is I don’t imagine we’ll be doing much kissing after all of this garlic.”

Matt hummed absently, tracking a couple of men from across the room, who he thought might have followed them there. They had been seated near the window and ordered like any other customers, but there was still something about them that bothered him.

Foggy made a considering noise and then continued, “Is this your way of saying you want to take it slow? ‘Let’s go to Mario’s and get garlic breath?’”

Foggy repeated Matt’s name with concern.

“Sorry, I just got distracted for a minute,” he apologized. “I picked Mario’s, because I know it’s your favorite. You rave about the breadsticks for days every time you come here.”

“They _are_ amazing!”

“So I’ve heard.

Besides, do you really think a little thing like garlic breath would stop me from kissing you?”

The heat from Foggy’s cheeks shone like two bright spots in Matt’s world on fire, and Matt smirked.

“What makes you think I kiss on the first date, Murdock?

I’m not some floozy. I need to be wooed.”

It was a joke, but it also made Matt realize the very large error he had made. If he would have let Foggy believe this was a ‘bro’s night’, he could have easily talked his way into a movie night and a ‘bro’s sleepover’. Though it had been a while, it wouldn’t be anything they hadn’t done before. However, he had insisted on calling this a ‘date’, and that meant asking Foggy back to his apartment was now a loaded question. It came with the possibility of sex, and Foggy might not be ready for that yet. He might refuse to do more than call it a night after dinner, just to make sure it was clear that he wasn’t ready yet. All of which meant, Foggy might end up going home alone, and that was unacceptable. He couldn’t leave any opportunities open for Foggy’s attackers.

“You’re the one who brought up kissing, Mr. Nelson. You actually seemed disappointed that it might not be on the table. I just let you know where you stood. . . 

And honestly Foggy, we can go as fast or as slow as you want.”

“Then, maybe we should get the check then, and see if your delicate senses are really as up to the challenge as you claim. I gotta be honest, Matty, I can barely stand my own breath right now, so I have my doubts.” 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Matt quipped as he leaned across the table and kissed Foggy.

The kiss was relatively short, and left him wanting more. Still, more would have to wait. Besides the fact that they were in public, and making out in public wasn’t the best look for two grown adults, he also couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched. Their position felt too exposed, and he wanted to get Foggy tucked away in one of their apartments as soon as possible.

He barely caught the comment Foggy made about blasphemy as he scanned the room again. The two men by the window had left, but someone was watching somewhere. Matt was sure of it.

Matt ignored the prickly feeling on the back of his neck long enough to pay the bill, and then walked hand-in-hand with Foggy out of the restaurant.

“So, I was looking forward to continuing what we started back at my place,” Matt tried. “What do you think?”

“I say, lead the way, Murdock,” Foggy replied.

They pressed closer as they walked, first banging their elbows together, then touching their shoulders, and finally more or less leaning on each other as they pressed forward. Matt’s body felt tingly and warm every place he was making contact with Foggy, and his heart thumped along happily, singing a duet with Foggy’s equally contented beat. It was nearly perfect, but then the scrape of footsteps in a nearby alley reminded Matt abruptly of his fears. Someone could still be watching or following. All was not safe yet, and despite how intoxicating Foggy was, he needed to keep some of his senses open to track potential threats.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Foggy commented.

“I guess I’m still surprised I’m lucky enough to be here with you.”

It was true, and on so many more levels than Foggy knew.

“You’re surprised?” Foggy scoffed. “I’m only fifty percent sure I’m not dreaming.”

Matt stopped and kissed Foggy insistently for a little less than a minute.

“This is real, Fog,” he stated as they pulled apart. “Did that kiss feel fake?”

“I have a very vivid imagination,” Foggy mumbled.

Matt shook his head in exasperation, but didn’t say anything more because they had finally reached his building. Instead he unlocked the front door, and set a quick pace up the stairs. Quick enough, that Foggy was panting slightly when they walked into the apartment.

Then, Matt scanned the apartment while he let Foggy catch his breath. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and Matt felt himself finally relax. He was in familiar territory, behind locked windows and doors, with Foggy. This could work. He could end the day with Foggy safe and alive, and if he was really lucky, wrapped up in his arms.

They met on the couch, but neither of them seemed to know if they should be the first one to reach out and restart things, so they both sat there frozen and awkward. Until Matt decided the whole situation was ridiculous, and reached out to pull in Foggy roughly by the back of his neck.

Their faces more or less collided together, and as soon as their lips touched, Matt set a frenzied pace. He _wanted_ this, and he wasn’t going to hold back his hunger any longer. So he kissed like a man on a mission, running his hands over Foggy’s face, mapping it out as his tongue explore the inside of Foggy’s mouth.

He kissed like the only way they could breathe was to steal the air from each other’s lungs. Like his life depended on it. Like _Foggy’s_ life depended on it . . . Foggy’s life . . .

Matt shuddered and almost broke the kiss as he remember the last couple of nights, but instead, he let one of his hands trail down and rest over Foggy’s heart. He could hear it. Of course he could, it was hammering like a freight train, but feeling it meant it was real. The steady push against his hand shouted “Foggy lives! Foggy lives!” It was too good a feeling to be content touching through a shirt, so he reached down for the hem of Foggy’s shirt with his other hand, and the heart under his hand jolted.

At first he thought it was excitement, but then he realized Foggy had frozen in place, no longer trying to return his kiss.

“Foggy?”

“Can’t we keep our shirts on tonight?” Foggy whispered self-consciously.

Matt cocked his head in confusion, but nodded anyway.

“Of course . . .but you know I love your body, right?”

“Right.”

The response sounded uncertain, even doubtful. It didn’t register as a lie, but that didn’t mean Foggy believed him.

“I do,” Matt insisted.

“And why wouldn’t you? I’m a catch. Everyone wants me.”

His voice was flat. Like he was going for joking or sarcastic, but couldn’t find the will to follow through. Honestly, he sounded like someone who had been told one plus one was three all day, and was just too tired and shocked to continue correcting people on a basic mistake. The idea that Foggy might feel that way about _this_ , hurt Matt down to his core.

“I do.”

Foggy nodded absently, but then switched to shaking his head more and more forcefully.

“What are we doing, Matt? This is stupid! It’s never going to work!

We’re going to crash and burn, and I’ll lose my closest friend because I tried to fly too close to the sun.”

“What?! Foggy . . .”

“I’ve gotta go . . . I just . . .I’ve gotta go.” 

His voice was rushed and panicked, his heart matched its pace. As the words sunk in, Matt’s heartbeat became just as frenzied. Foggy was leaving. He couldn’t let that happen.

Foggy, walking home at night, alone, in the dark, was a recipe for disaster. Add in that he was upset, and likely to be distracted, and he was a near perfect target. This could _not_ happen.

Matt snagged his wrist urgently.

“It’s late. Maybe you should stay,” he tried desperately.

“I’m not ready to make-out topless, so you think we should spend the night together?” Foggy asked incredulously.

“Just to sleep. In separate sleeping locations, even. I’ll take the couch.

It’s not that weird, Fog. We were roommates for years. We’ve done the whole sleeping-in-the-same-space-platonically thing countless times.”

“Not after a date we haven’t!”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be weird!”

“How can it be anything but?

You’re trying to be so nice about this, but let’s be real here. You might think you’re into me, but what you really are is guilty about me being into you. You’re giving this a shot because you care about me, and you think it’s the right thing to do, but it won’t take you too long to see that your feelings for me are just friend feelings. Deep, loving, almost-brothers friend feelings, maybe, but still just friend feelings.

I mean, I get how it could be confusing. Maybe I really did help you realize guys were something you liked. Maybe me hitting on you made you consider the possibility that you’d been avoiding before. And maybe that even made you think that you were attracted to me, but I doubt you were ever attracted to more than the idea of me. The idea of a man-person who you could desire, instead of a female-person. I mean you couldn’t have ever been truly attracted to me, because you’re so out of my league it’s embarrassing. 

If this were sports, you’d be a pro, and I’d be the person cut from the high school varsity squad. If we were mythological creatures, you would be a Greek god, and I’d be a Scandinavian rock troll. Sooner or later, you’re going to realize that, and go back to dating other pro athletes, and Greek gods and goddesses, like you always have before. . . .and the sooner you touch all of this,” he gestured expansively to his body. “The sooner you’ll have concrete proof. 

It’s not like your fire vision, or whatever, doesn’t give you a vague idea, but I know that you learn so much more from touch . . .and, and there’s no way you could find my body attractive . . .no matter how much you care about me. There are certain things that get people going and others things that don’t. I’ve known you a decade. I’ve seen what turns you on, and it’s not people like me. It won’t take you long to realize that once we get handsy, and I don’t need your guilt or your pity when you realize the full scope of my—, my—“

He kept gesturing to himself furiously, his breathing speeding up and getting more panicked and pained with each loop he made to encompass himself.

“That’s not true! I—“

Matt started to protest.

“I’m sure you think what you said earlier is the truth, Matt,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’re trying to trap me, or trick me. . . But I also know that if I let myself think I can have this, and you change your mind . . . Matt, I just - I can’t . . . It might kill me . . . .which is overly dramatic, and too much pressure on you, and way too codependent of me . . . And I’m definitely spiraling here . . . But, Matt . . .I just- I . . .”

For once, Matt was glad he couldn’t see Foggy’s face, because if it looked half as broken as his voice sounded, Matt would never recover. As it was, his heart was breaking in his chest. He didn’t know who he should be cursing for making Foggy feel so insecure, but he was cursing them internally anyway. 

The scent of salt filled the air, and Foggy’s body trembled. Matt bit the inside of his lip to keep from crying, or screaming abuse at anyone and everyone who had ever said a word against Foggy, he didn’t know which. However, he knew neither of those would help the situation. Instead, he took a calming breath, and reached out to wrap Foggy in his arms. However, he ended up with empty arms, and nothing more than the breeze of air that rushed past him as Foggy ran out of the front door.

~~~~~

Matt stood frozen to his spot for a moment.

No! No! No, no, no!

Foggy was not supposed to be hurt, and crying, and running out into possible danger! He was supposed to be loved, and cherished, and safe in Matt’s arms! Why did this keep happening?! Why did Matt keep failing Foggy?!

Matt took a few panicked breaths, and then ran for his trunk and the outfit inside. He put it on with shaky fingers, and then he bolted out of the roof access door.

“ _. . all I have.”_

Foggy! 

His voice was carefully measured, and calm, but his heartbeat was a frantic flutter underneath his steady facade.

_“We don’t want your wallet!”_

_“Then what do you want?!_

_Look, I’ve had a really shitty night, and I don’t think you’re holding me at knifepoint to chat. So what do you want? The sooner we can get this done with, the sooner we can move on.”_

Matt missed the next few parts of the conversation as he reflected on the fact that he needed to have a serious talk with Foggy about not antagonizing people who were threatening his life. 

_”… don’t know him. Do I look like the type of person who hangs out with someone who traipses around in a ridiculous red suit with horns?”_

_“I’d say you do . . .but if you’re saying you’re not, then I guess we don’t need you after all. . .”_

No! Matt leapt down into the alley as the man was finishing his threat. That man and three others were surrounding Foggy with knives drawn, but they all froze as Matt landed.

While they were standing shocked, Matt lashed out at the first man. He disarmed him with a kick to his wrist, and then downed him with a series of brutal punches. 

Meanwhile, the other men recovered from their stupor. Two of them rushed at Matt, blades brandished, but one of them took a different route. While the other two attacked, he subdued Foggy, eventually trapping him into a hold with his knife held to his throat. 

“Well, what do we have here?” the man hissed in Foggy’s ear. “It seems you might know Daredevil after all.”

“Let him go!” Matt demanded, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

This couldn’t be happening again. Not again. 

_Strike three,_ taunted a voice in his head.

“And he cares for you! The ‘man without fear’ is panicking! Would you look at that!

You must be special. I wonder what he would do to persuade me to spare your life?”

“Hate to break it to you, but the only thing you’re going to persuade him to do is break your bones and beat you bloody,” quipped Foggy.

Matt’s heart jolted, and raced even faster, as he tried desperately to keep his panic off his face. _Don’t provoke the man holding a knife to your throat, Foggy!_ (The conversation about not provoking people was going to be a long one.)

“Maybe, but if you don’t watch your smart mouth, you’ll persuade me to shut you up permanently!”

No, no, no no no. How could he stop this? He needed to take this guy down. He needed to . . .

A knife clanked to the ground, and the man who had been breathing threats just a few moments ago let out a winded yelp. Foggy had somehow manage to step on his foot, elbow him in the stomach, and strike his arm, all in some awkward, yet well-coordinated, movement.

For a few seconds, Matt was stunned, but he quickly regained his wits and rushed at the wounded man. He plowed into him with the full force of his body weight, and pinned him against the alley wall. Then he laid into him with his fists, each blow more brutal than the last.

Foggy hadn’t been wrong when he said that Matt would be compelled to break this man’s bones and beat him bloody. The man had held a knife to Foggy’s carotid artery, he’d threatened to kill him, and now all of Matt’s barely restrained rage required that this man pay.

“Daredevil—“ Foggy tried, from the place he had retreated on the other side of the alley. “I think he . . .uhh!”

Foggy’s voice was cut off by a grunt and a surprised exhale, and the air started to fill with the scent of very familiar blood.

No! Matt let the man he had pinned drop to ground, and turned around in disbelief.

There stood one of the men he had knocked out earlier, conscious once again, and holding a bloody knife. Crumpled at his feet, was Foggy, struggling to breathe through stab wounds in his chest.

“No!”

“Hope he wasn’t anyone important,” the man sneered.

Matt let out a roar and charged the man, grabbing the arm with the knife and twisting it until it cracked and popped. Then he threw the coward with every ounce of strength his body could muster. There was a sickening thud, and Foggy’s assailant collapsed onto the ground like a rag doll. He was definitely down for the count, maybe even dead, but Matt didn’t have the time to waste listening to that excuse for a man’s heartbeat. Instead he turned his whole focus to the one that mattered.

Foggy’s heart was beating its swan song. The realization made Matt feel cold and sick, but it was undeniable. The rhythm was fading. 

He dropped to his knees next to the man he loved, and pulled him into his arms, the action reminding him of his earlier hopes of ending the night with Foggy held close to him. This was not what he had had in mind. Not at all.

Foggy gasped in pain as he was moved, and Matt muffled a sob. He pressed down on the stab wounds, hoping to stem the flow of blood, and pulling an agonized shout from Foggy, but he knew it was too late. Too much had already been lost.

“Foggy, Foggy,” he sobbed desperately.

“You’ll . . .be okay . . . .Matty,” Foggy gasped.

“No! No!” he disagreed vehemently, shaking his head insistently.

“Yes. . .”

“No! I love you. I love you so much! Foggy, I love you. I love you! You need to know that! 

Not pity! Not confusion! None of that! I love you! I love you! I love—“

Matt’s words poured out of him in a desperate flow, until a gentle, weak hand brushed against his in a brief, trembling touch.

“I know . . .”

The words were sighed on an exhale, that wasn’t followed by an accompanying inhalation. Instead they just faded into the final frantic run of an oxygen-starved heart.

Matt felt the wailing scream that tore out of him in every corner of his being, even as it seemed to echo as if it were from someone else. His breath shuddered back into his lungs, and he released it forcefully in another scream. He didn’t want to breathe. He didn’t want oxygen to fill his lungs, or travel through his blood to feed his ravaged heart, not when Foggy’s was so tauntingly still and quiet.

“Daredevil?” questioned a familiar voice, (Brett, of course, of all the officers they could have sent . . .). “ . . .wait, is that? Foggy?!

What did you do to him!?

Get up slowly! And keep your hands up!”

Matt kissed Foggy’s forehead, and then gently laid him on the ground, before he started to rise slowly to his feet, with his hands held high. Then, an idea occurred to him, and he started advancing on the officer.

“Stop! I’m warning you! Stop right now, or I’ll . . .”

“Shoot me?” Matt questioned. “Go ahead. Do it.”

The words caught Brett by surprise. So much so, that he lowered his gun slightly.

Matt continued to advance on Brett, and stopped just an arm’s length away. Then he pulled off his helmet with one hand, and raised Brett’s pistol to his forehead with the other.

“Do it,” he repeated. “I killed him. I killed Foggy, and I threatened you. You’d be completely justified. You’d even be a hero. The cop who brought down the murdering vigilante. Do it; shoot me.”

“Murdock,” Brett breathed in shock.

“Do it,” Matt sobbed.

Officer Mahoney just shook his head, and holstered his gun.

“You expect me to dishonor Foggy’s memory by shooting you right in front of him?!”

“Don’t you get it! He’s gone, and it’s my fault!”

“Maybe, maybe not, but he still wouldn’t want this.

Go home, Murdock.”

“You can’t just let me—“

“I said, go home.”

“But I’m—“

“I lost a friend tonight. One who I might not always have appreciated, but a friend all the same.

It might be too late for me to tell him that I cared about him, but it’s not too late for me to show him kindness. There was nothing in this world he loved as much as he loved you, so go home, Matt. Live. It’s what he would have wanted.”

At those words, Matt deflated. His shoulders sagged, and he seemed to get impossibly small.

A few more sobs escaped him, but he nodded solemnly, and started his route home. He trudged through alleys, not bothering to return to the rooftops until he got back to his own building and started climbing the fire escape from the shadows. Then, he wandered back into his apartment like the lost soul that he was, and threw himself onto his bed.

 _Strike three_ echoed through his head on mocking repeat as he sobbed and screamed his heart out into his pillow until he passed out.


	4. The Worst Day: Take 4

Matt awoke breathless from a nightmare, with a feeling of wrongness in the pit of his stomach.

_Of course something’s wrong! You’re weak! A sorry excuse for a man, much less a warrior! You lost your “precious” Foggy._

_I told you connections make you weak, kid, but you didn’t listen. You fell in love with him anyway, and what did you get? Are you happy now?_

_He’s gone, and it’s all your fault! You were given chance after chance to save him, but you failed! Three strikes, and you’re out, Matty! And you have no one to blame but yourself!_

He winced against the accusations of an imagined Stick, but he couldn’t deny the truth of the words. He _had_ been weak; far too weak to hold onto what was his. Instead, he’d been left with a gaping hole in his heart.

Matt stumbled out of bed, and made his way to the shower. He should probably get the blood off of him . . .only, now that he focused, there didn’t seem to be any blood except for a couple of dried drops along his hairline. Not to mention, he wasn’t wearing anything other than boxers, even though he swore he hadn’t taken off the suit the previous night.

Could it be . . . Matt ran into his bedroom, and smashed the buttons on his phone.

“It is five o-five am. Friday, May 19,” recited the device.

Clothes. He needed clothes. He fished in his drawers, and then pulled on socks, sweatpants and a hoodie as quickly as he could without falling over. Finally dressed, he sprang out of his window like a man possessed.

He bolted across rooftops, over alleys, and down fire escapes until he found himself in range of Foggy’s apartment, and there it was. . .a miracle. Day three of rushing out in hopes of finding a beloved, familiar rhythm, and if anything, the cadence of Foggy’s heart filled him with more awe in that moment than it ever had before. Only, this time, listening wasn’t enough. He couldn’t just go home and wait for a reasonable hour to show up and walk Foggy to work.

Matt debated descending to ground level and going through the front door. After all, people might be watching. However, he didn’t have his keys with him, and it wasn’t like whoever was watching hadn’t already seen enough to target Foggy. So he made his way to the fire escape outside of Foggy’s bedroom window, and reveled in the sound of his peaceful snoring for a few moments before he knocked on the glass.

Foggy startled, and sat straight up in bed. His breath caught, but quickly returned to normal, no doubt as he recognized the figure outside his window as Matt.

“Matt,” he said as he walked over to the window, talking as if the other man were already inside, knowing he’d be able to hear. “I’m kind of surprised to see you. You didn’t stay last night, so I thought you wanted some space. 

I was hoping to see you at the office, but I wasn’t sure you’d come in . . .” he opened the window and stepped back, “ . . .and, wait, are you back because you’re hurt? Are you o—“

Matt vaulted through the window, and cut Foggy off by pulling him into a tight embrace. 

Relief rushed through him as he felt all the signs of life radiating from Foggy. He was okay. He was alive, and healthy, and _perfect_. There was no other word. He was _**perfect**_ , Matt reflected.

Meanwhile, tears welled up in his eyes. He tried to stop them, but they continued without his consent. They gathered and spilled over onto his lashes, and rolled down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey,” Foggy whispered softly. “What’s wrong, Matty? Are you hurt?”

Matt shook his head dazedly, too overwhelmed to speak.

Foggy wiped at his tears, and tried to pull back to get a better look at his face, but Matt pulled him closer. He tightened his hold on the other man, and Matt buried his face in Foggy’s shoulder.

“Matty,” Foggy tried softly, and oh so gently. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“I lost you,” Matt choked.

“You lost me?”

“You died. . . .and I got a second chance, and a third, but it didn’t matter. Each time you died. I couldn’t stop it. You died three different times, and I couldn’t . . . I wasn’t . . .I’m sorry, Foggy.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

“Foggy, today is the day you die . . .or at least the last three times I’ve lived today it was—“

“Matt, you’re not making any sense. Are you sure this wasn’t a dream, or some sort of hallucination?

I mean, your head was pretty scrambled last night . . .”

Matt had to admit, when Foggy put it like that he was a little ashamed he hadn’t even considered the possibility that all of the strange repeated day stuff was just in his head. It certainly made more sense than the alternative. He could have dreamed or hallucinated it all while in his bed after a head wound, and that’s why everything was just as it had been after he left Foggy’s apartment.

Except, it all just seemed too real to be anything else. Everything was too detailed, and too consistent. He couldn’t explain it, but somehow he just knew in his bones that none of it had been a dream or a figment of his imagination. He was repeating the same day for the fourth time, but that was just the way it was, the truth of the situation.

He shook his head decisively.

“I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but today keeps repeating for me. Each time, what I do affects the day, and it changes . . .but it doesn’t change the most important part.”

“Because I still die.”

Foggy still sounded dubious, but there was a slight curiosity to his voice, like he wanted to understand what Matt was talking about, even if he didn’t fully believe him. 

“Every time,” a muffled sob escaped Matt as he spoke. “No matter what I do. . . And Foggy, you have to know that I try so hard to save you. I do everything I can, but it’s never enough.”

Matt broke down once more, and Foggy hugged him tighter, running a hand up and down his back soothingly.

“Shh, Matt. It’s okay. I believe you. And it’s not your fault . . .besides, I’m here now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Matt shook his head.

“It’s not okay. They’re still going to try to kill you. They do everyday, and I can’t stop them. I don’t know how.

I can’t lose you again! I can’t!”

He started sobbing against Foggy’s throat again. One hand wrapped tighter around Foggy’s back and the other crept up to sit in the middle of his chest. He needed to ground himself.

“Matty, it’s okay. We can figure this out, we just need to make a plan.

Tell me about the other days. Tell me about the people trying to kill me. What do we know?”

“I know there are four men. I think they’ve been stalking you, because they always seem to know when you’re alone, and when you’re most vulnerable. So far, they’ve only ever attacked you when you were alone.

The first time they kidnapped you in an alley on your way to work. I found out after you didn’t come into work. At around lunchtime, I went to look for you, and your apartment was empty, but it had all the signs that you had completed your morning routine and left. Then, I found some of your blood in a nearby alley.

The next time, I walked with you to work, and nothing happened. We spent the rest of the day together; first at work, then at your apartment, and they didn’t do anything. There wasn’t even a hint of them, not until after I left your apartment, and you were in bed. Then, they tried to break in and take you.”

“‘Tried’?”

“I caught them trying to break in while I was doing my ‘night job’, and when I tried to stop them, they killed you.”

Foggy nodded, and then prompted, “And the third time?”

“The third time, I tried to do something similar to the second one, only I didn’t have any intentions of leaving you. I brought you back to my apartment, hoping you would spend the night, but I was an idiot, and you left, and they cornered you in an alley on your way home.”

“You ‘were an idiot’?” 

“I upset you. I didn’t mean to, but I shouldn’t have pushed. Not when I knew if you left, they might hurt you. I should have . . . I should have tried harder to keep you safe. I should have known it wasn’t the right time to bring that up . . . I was stupid. I should have known better. I should . . .I . . .”

Matt was winding up for another round; shaking, and sobbing, and clinging to Foggy.

“Bring what up?”

“Foggy . . .please, I can’t risk losing you again. I can’t . . .”

“And you think you will if you tell me? You think I’ll storm off, even though I know I’ll probably be cornered by a bunch of people who want me dead if I do?

What could be so bad that I would voluntarily walk into death over it?”

For the most part, Foggy kept his voice neutral, but there was a nervousness that underlaid his last question. Matt imagined he must be envisioning all sorts of worst case scenarios, and not without reason. He knew his vague statements weren’t exactly helpful or calming, and his resolve to keep his secret was slipping. After all, this time Foggy knew the stakes, and the situation was different . . .and maybe after he’d seen how affected Matt was . . .

“I told you I loved you,” Matt blurted.

“What?”

“That’s what I did that upset you. 

I told you that I was in love with you, and you didn’t believe me. You thought I was pitying you, or deluding myself into thinking I was in love with you to avoid conflict, or something like that . . .  


And you left because you were afraid that as soon as we acted on anything, I’d come to my senses and realize I didn’t really mean it . . .but Foggy, nothing could be further from the truth! I love you,” Matt breathed out in a desperate rush.

Foggy’s breath caught, and he went rigid in Matt’s arms, and then took a step back out of them.

“Last night . . .or, well, my last night; the night you came here after they tried to bash your head in, I told you . . . I told you that I loved you. I guess I didn’t say I was _in love_ with you, but I’m pretty sure you knew I wasn’t talking about just loving you like a friend. 

You didn’t say anything then, and you’ve let me think you were straight for pretty much a decade. . .so did you really mean it? Or were you just trying to keep me out of danger by saying what you thought I wanted to hear?”

Matt reached out to recapture Foggy in his arms. He was too far away, and it was making him twitchy. Besides, maybe Foggy would be able to feel his sincerity in the tenderness of his hold, or the cadence of his heart beating against Foggy’s.

Foggy took a couple steps further away, clearly unwilling to be caught. Matt sighed and answered.

“We were fighting when you told me! I didn’t know what to say! You surprised me.

Also, I’m not straight; I’m bisexual . . . .and you heard me, right? You died after I told you! How is that keeping you out of danger?!”

“That doesn’t mean you weren’t _trying_ to keep me safe. Even if it backfired.

. . .and it doesn’t mean you’re not still doing that by telling me you love me now. . . .although I guess it could be guilt, because you think me dying was your fault.”

“It was my fault!” Matt spit out bitterly. “I drove you into danger, and . . . .”

His shoulders shook, and he heaved a few breaths to try to calm himself to continue.

“Foggy, I love you,” he reached out and snagged Foggy’s hand and held it to his heart, (it was racing, but hopefully Foggy would still realize he was being sincere). “I love you with all of my heart. Not because I feel guilty, even though I do feel guilty. It was my fault. I didn’t protect you. . . .”

“Matt—“ Foggy started gently.

He tried to pull his hand free, and was no doubt going to tell Matt it wasn’t his fault, but Matt couldn’t let himself be sidetracked. He pressed Foggy’s hand more firmly against his chest and rushed to continue.

“I love you, Foggy. Not because I think that’s what you want to hear, and not because I pity you . . . But because you’re the best man I know. Because I’ve known you for a decade, and I’ve only felt luckier each year you’ve chosen to stay by my side. Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Because you’re beautiful, and amazing, and I adore you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

You’re the only thing in this world I can’t live without. That’s what I mean by ‘I love you.’”

“You mean it,” Foggy breathed in disbelief as he staggered a few steps backward.

Matt advanced a step, but Foggy held up a hand to stop him.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” he asked desperately.

Foggy waved vaguely at himself and then at Matt.

“Because I’m this, and you’re _**that!**_ ”

“If by ‘this’ you mean that you’re smart, clever, funny and kind; with a musical voice, an intoxicating scent, incredible hidden strength, and the biggest heart in the world, then I agree. 

You’re amazing, and I know I pale in comparison to your effervescence. That’s why I feel so lucky that you ever considered me for even a minute.”

He moved another step closer, but Foggy took a corresponding step back.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Matt,” Foggy responded flatly. “You know you’re desirable, and not just to me. Don’t pretend to be surprised that I would be attracted to you.

You also know, I meant that I could never compare with your brains, your strength, your drive, or your stunningly good looks. You’re hot, brilliant and a hero. No one ever so much as gives me a second look when I’m next to you, and I can’t say that I blame them.”

“That’s because those people are dumb,” Matt scoffed. “If they had any brains at all, they would pick you over me.”

“You realize you just called pretty much everyone dumb. . . .including Karen and Claire, who would kick your ass over such a comment.”

“Claire is smart. She dumped me before we even started because she saw what a mess I am . . .and Karen is pretty amazing, but her taste in men is severely suspect.”

“Does that mean my taste in men is suspect too?”

Matt scoffed again.

“Not just men . . . Marci? Debbie? Bethany? . . .pretty much everyone you’ve ever dated. 

Your type is assholes, Foggy.”

“Shut up, asshole!”

Foggy reached out and shoved at Matt’s shoulder before retreating to his spot several steps away, and while his tone wasn’t entirely playful, it wasn’t angry either.

“Exactly! I’m one too!

Selfishly, I’m glad that’s your type, because it means I stand a chance. But, it also means I’ve wanted to beat up everyone you’ve ever dated, and not just because I was jealous.”

“Wait . . .” Foggy breathed, realization dawning in his voice. “Todd . . .”

“Okay, I actually did beat him up, but he had it coming, Foggy! He hurt you!” Matt defended.

“Hurting my feelings isn’t a reason—“

“I think it is; but he didn’t just hurt your feelings, Foggy. He hit you.”

“I never told you that.”

“You came home early from your date, smelling like tears, and with fresh bruises; you said the two of you broke up, refused to answer any questions, and hid in your room. I figured it out. Especially when you wouldn’t say what happened. You’d never been so secretive about a break up before. 

So I went out and I showed him what it was like to be the one getting hit.”

“Matt!”

“You had bruises in the shape of his hands! And you shut yourself in your room and cried! What was I supposed to do?!”

“Not assault him!” Foggy shouted slightly hysterically while waving his arms just as manically; then he suddenly went very still. “Wait . . .that guy who used to torment me. . . Brad? He . . .”

“Also hurt you, and also had it coming.”

“Exactly how many people have you beat up on my behalf?”

Matt turned his face downward, and raised his shoulders slightly. Foggy sounded upset, and he didn’t want to make things worse.

“Should I count the people I beat up in the time loop, even if I haven’t beat them up yet today?” he asked to buy himself time.

“What?! Yes, no . . .why don’t you just tell me how many without them.”

Foggy’s voice sounded frantic and confused, and clearly Matt’s delay tactic had backfired.

“Six.”

“Not including the four from previous-today?!”

Matt nodded.

“Okay . . .Brad, Todd . . .and who else?”

“I don’t know all of their names . . .but, there was someone who tried to drug your drink at a frat party sophomore year. 

I heard the guy operating the keg drop something into one of the beers he had just poured, and once he handed you your drink, I could smell that your beer had been drugged. So I ‘accidentally’ bumped into you to make you spill it, and then later that night I went out and dealt with the guy who had done it.

. . .then there was that time, during L1, where that one guy. . . I can’t remember his name, kept making stupid comments about me after I beat him during a mock.”

“Skip? The one who kept saying you only ever won because people felt sorry for you?

He was an idiot!”

“Right, which you stated quite scathingly, colorfully, and really loudly, after he finished running his mouth. You laid into him in front of a crowd, and a whole group of students laughed at him . . .he wasn’t very happy about that.

He got a couple of his lacrosse buddies, and they were waiting to ambush us on our the way back to the dorm after our next class. I heard them whispering about their plan as we approached, so I told you I forgot my textbook in the lecture hall. You ran back to get it, and I dealt with them.”

“That’s why I couldn’t find it! . . .and that’s why you had a bruise on your cheek! 

I felt so bad. You told me you got distracted and tripped on an uneven bit of sidewalk on the way back to the dorm!”

“They got in a lucky shot,” Matt admitted, before adding darkly. “It was the only one. Let’s just say they really regretted their plan by the time I was done.”

“Matt!” Foggy scolded, before adding, “Wait, that was during broad daylight! How did no one notice that you beat up three guys?”

“Well, firstly, they were waiting for us somewhere out of the way, surrounded by trees and bushes as best as I could tell, because I don’t imagine they wanted to be seen when they beat us up. Secondly, I tried to make as much of it seem accidental as I could. 

And it’s not like they were going to tell anyone. Between the fact they would have to admit what their plans were in the first place, and not wanting to admit that one blind guy kicked their asses three to one . . .”

“But if you knew they were waiting, why didn’t you just avoid them? Why risk it?”

“I wasn’t their primary target,” Matt stated, then he continued with a scoff, “‘Make sure you don’t hit the blind guy any more than you have to,’ one of them said.

If I stayed on course, and they thought you might catch up to me, they had no reason to abort the plan. If they were wrong, they could try later. But, if I changed course, they had no reason to continue to wait. They might have sought you out elsewhere, and caught you alone.

Besides, they tried . . .”

“To hurt me,” Foggy finished. “I’m sensing a pattern.”

Matt closed the distance between them as quickly as he could. He reached up a hand to cup Foggy’s cheek, as Foggy seemed to vacillate between turning his face away and leaning into it, before deciding to rest his cheek against Matt’s palm. Matt sighed and stroked over Foggy’s cheek with his thumb, feeling much more grounded now that he was touching him again.

“I would do anything for you, Foggy. I would give anything for you to be safe; and I’d be lost without you.

I just . . .I want you to be happy . . . and I want you to be with someone who loves you, and cherishes you, and never lets you forget just how much you’re loved.

Selfishly, I want that person to be me, but as long as they do those things, and they make you happy, then I’m happy . . .even if it’s not me.”

Foggy reached up his hand to mirror Matt’s, and gently cupped Matt’s cheek. Matt leaned eagerly into the touch and sighed contentedly.

“You’d be happy even if it’s not you?

I’m not convinced. You sounded miserable just saying the words.”

Matt gave a half-shrug; Foggy wasn’t wrong.

“. . .But don’t you worry; you’re my favorite asshole.”

Matt chuckled, trying to keep his hysteria out of it. 

“I’m also pretty sure no one loves me more than you do,” Foggy admitted quietly, “and I know there’s no one I love more than you, Matty.”

“Foggy . . .” he breathed as he ran his thumb over Foggy’s lips and leaned in for a kiss.

Their lips met in a brief, chaste kiss, but it still sent a jolt of lightning down Matt’s spine. He pulled back with a soft gasp, one hand coming up to touch his lips in disbelief.

“Matt, as glad as I am that we had a chance to talk, even if it is ass o’clock in the morning, and as really, really glad as I am that we kissed, I’m tired. 

We don’t need to be at work until nine, so can we go to bed? Just for an hour or two?”

“Sure,” Matt whispered, the bubble their kiss had created bursting.

He turned to head for Foggy’s couch, but he felt a tug on his wrist.

“Where are you going?” Foggy asked.

“Couch. I . . .”

“Wouldn’t you rather be in the bed?”

“What?”

“Just for sleeping, because I really am tired, but, why not? 

We pretty much just confessed our undying love for each other, sharing a bed can’t be that awkward.”

A breathy, disbelieving chuckle escaped Matt, and he followed Foggy the few steps to his bed.  
Then he climbed in behind Foggy, and wrapped him up tightly in his arms, his body curling protectively around Foggy’s.

Foggy hummed sleepily, and Matt gently kissed his shoulder. This was right, Matt reflected. Holding Foggy close and safe, while the other man slept, both of them safe and sound. This was how it should be.

Within minutes, Foggy was snoring, but Matt stayed stubbornly awake. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to sleep, even if he had tried, but at the moment he decided keeping watch was probably a more prudent course of action anyway. It wasn’t likely they would try anything before Foggy left for the morning, or when Foggy wasn’t alone, but just in case. If anyone tried anything, Matt would protect Foggy. He’d be ready. 

Besides, staying awake meant he got to catalogue every little thing about Foggy as he slept. The timbre of his snores. The warm, sleepy, pliability of his resting body; all his muscles relaxed and loose. The slow, steady rhythm of his heart; beating the adagio melody of dreams. He was beautiful. Matt could hold him forever, and still want more.

Nearly two hours passed like the blink of an eye, and before Matt knew it, they were making their way into the office.

“Something’s different between you two,” Karen observed as they walked into the office. “Are you fighting again?”

“Pretty much the farthest thing from it,” Foggy remarked cheerfully.

A silence fell over the office, during which Matt was fairly certain she was studying them suspiciously.

“Does that mean . . .”

“It means we’re getting along _really well_ ,” Foggy answered playfully.

“How well?”

“This well,” Matt said with a smile as he leaned in and pecked Foggy on the lips, unable to hold back any longer.

“Awww! 

I mean, officially, ew! No PDA in the office from now on. This _is_ a professional establishment . . .but awwwww! I’m really happy for you two.”

“Thanks!” Foggy called as he made his way to his own office, leaving Matt feeling bereft.

It was just as well, they had work to do. That didn’t make it any easier to be _all the way across the office_ from Foggy. He wasn’t in easy reach, (which was probably better if they actually wanted to get work done), and as ridiculous as it was, Matt missed him. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, and he had to remind himself that Foggy was just a dozen steps away, and _yes_ they did actually need to complete some work.

As lunch neared, Foggy whispered to him from his own desk. He had no trouble hearing him, but he wondered why he hadn’t just crossed the room to talk to him from a more normal conversation distance.

“Matt,” he whispered. “I’ve been thinking about our problem, and I have a plan.”

Matt turned his head in the direction of Foggy’s voice and waited for him to go on.

“During lunch, I was thinking, Karen and I could go pick up food, and you could go home and put your other suit in a gym bag or something, so you would have it here.”

That got Matt’s attention. Why did Foggy think he needed the suit?

“Then, at the end of the day, we’ll wait until after Karen has left, and it’s dark, and you’ll put on the suit. Then, I’ll start walking home, while you follow me up on the rooftops, or fire escapes, or however it is you usually travel when dressed in horns and Kevlar.

That way, we’ll draw them out, and make sure they end up arrested before the end of the night.”

Matt shook his head furiously, using all of his self-control not to yelling his feelings about the plan across the office. Instead, he scrambled to his feet, and rushed over to Foggy’s office like a man on a mission; almost slamming the door behind him, he had so much pent up nervous energy running through him.

“We’re not using you as bait!” he argued as soon as he was in front of Foggy.

“Shh!” Foggy said in a voice that was barely audible at all. “Do you want Karen to hear?”

“No,” Matt relented, lowering his voice to a whisper-shout. “But that still doesn’t mean that we’re going to do this!

Are you forgetting that the times I tried to intervene, they decided to cut their losses, and killed you?! What makes you think they won’t do that this time! I can’t risk it! I can’t, Foggy!”

“Okay. What’s your plan?”

“We play it safe. After work, we’ll walk back to my apartment together, and you’ll spend the night.”

“Which works until you go out to do your nightly thing.”

“I’m not going to do that tonight. I wouldn’t risk leaving you alone.”

“Okay, so you stay in tonight, and that keeps me safe until tomorrow morning, but what about the next night, and the night after that?

Matt, if these guys really are laying in wait, then they’re probably willing to play the long game. I don’t think they’ll be deterred just because they didn’t get an opportunity on day one, and let’s face facts, _eventually_ I’ll be alone. 

We can’t do all our milk runs and other errands together forever, nor can we leave the office lawyer-less every time we need to pick up documents, and you _will_ want to put on the suit again. Never letting me be alone is unsustainable, so we need to take these guys out of the equation.”

“By encouraging them to attack you?”

Matt’s voice was probably creeping toward too loud again, but he couldn’t help it. Foggy was laying out a plan to put his life in danger like it was the only logical choice, and Matt felt like his heart was going to beat itself out of his chest.

“You’ll be right there to stop them. Literally a few yards away, not playing catch up like the other nights. And, I’ll know it’s coming this time, so I’ll be prepared.

We’ll fight them off, call the police, and then they’ll go to jail, and we’ll stop having to look over our shoulders.”

“It’s too risky!”

“It’s also risky if they get tired of waiting after a few days, and attack us when we’re alone together, because then they’re suddenly getting their asses kicked by Matt Murdock, blind lawyer, and maybe they put the pieces together. And even if they don’t, they learn there’s something up with you, and do you really think they’ll keep quiet about that?

If we set the trap, we have more control over the situation. We protect your identity, and we know to expect the attack. It might not be ideal, but I think it might be the best we can hope for.”

Matt forced out a breath. He felt nauseated, and his head was spinning, but Foggy was probably right. They couldn’t put off these guys forever, and dictating as many of the terms as possible would probably help them get the upper hand. That didn’t mean that his heart wasn’t curled up in his throat, squeezed painfully tight with anxiety.

“You’ll be careful on your lunch run?” he asked reluctantly.

“Promise, Matty.”

“I love you,” he said, meaning so many things like ‘be safe,’ and ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you’.

“I love you, too.”

Their lips met in a brief kiss, and then they started their plan. Foggy going into the reception area to ask Karen what she wanted to do for lunch, and Matt ducking out to grab the suit.

~~~~~

The rest of the day was a hazy blur. Each moment seemed unfocused as Matt felt his stomach tie itself into ever more elaborate knots, and his chest constrict tighter by the hour. Working was pretty much an impossibility with the way dreadful anticipation was fraying his nerves. Instead he was left twitchy and restless. By the time Karen left, he felt exhausted, as if several days had passed, instead of a few short hours.

The end of anticipation didn’t help any either. Once he was faced with actually suiting up to enact their plan, he found that his fingers shook as he secured the fasteners and buckles on the suit. Gone was the normal calm that overtook him as he put on his armor. The sense of purpose and anticipation that usually filled him felt like a distant memory. This time was different. This wasn’t about stopping the crying and the screaming of the people of Hell’s Kitchen. This time, it was about preventing himself from being among those crying and screaming before the night was over. Something he was painfully aware that he had failed to do multiple times.

A soft touch to his shoulder pulled him from his morose thoughts. 

“I’m ready to head out,” Foggy informed.

His voice was so normal, as if his life and Matt’s sanity didn’t hang in the balance. How could he sound so calm?

As if reading Matt’s thoughts, Foggy gently squeezed Matt’s shoulder before dropping his hand.

“It’ll be okay, Matt. Just stick close, and we’ve got this.”

Matt wanted to shake his head, to plead with Foggy to reconsider and just walk back to Matt’s apartment side by side to spend a quiet night in, but he swallowed down the words and nodded instead. This needed to end. Foggy was right, they needed to get Foggy’s stalkers out of the equation and into jail cells. They could do this, (they _**had**_ to).

Foggy started down the stairs from their office, and Matt took a couple of deep breathes, and then headed out the window. He locked onto Foggy’s position immediately, and started following as closely as he dared from above.

No one suspicious had pinged on Matt’s radar yet, but the sidewalks were crowded, so it was hard to tell. That is, until Foggy turned to take a shortcut through a series of alleys, and a quartet of adrenaline-quickened heartbeats followed him at a distance.

This was it. Foggy was out of sight of the heavy pedestrian traffic, and they were there. The men who had murdered him on every other version of this day were closing in on him.

Matt’s heart beat against his breastbone like a battering ram, as the first man in the group caught up with Foggy, and pushed him against the brick wall. The man pinning Foggy said something about something, but Matt couldn’t hear it over the sound of his heart in his ears as he rushed to the edge of the roof. He heard Foggy’s voice answer back, but was still too unfocused to hear the words, (though if yesterday-today taught him anything it was probably something snarky), though he _did_ hear the sound of a fist hitting Foggy’s face. A sound that filled him with fury. Then there was shouting below him, but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was barreling down into the alley at full speed, and driving the man who had dared to touch Foggy into the ground.

Knives were drawn, and the others entered the fray, but Matt was ready. He was ready to show these men no mercy after what they had done, (whether or not they had done it yet in the current reality). He was outnumbered, but highly motivated. All he needed to do was make sure he stayed between them and Foggy as he . . .

_Thwack!_

A soft grunt accompanied the sound as one of the men double over after being hit with . . .a softball bat? How did Foggy manage to carry a bat and have it go unnoticed? . . .unimportant. The important thing was that Matt needed to keep fighting. Foggy’s involvement in the fight was just more likely to make them angry, and Matt needed to make sure they were down as soon as possible. They would never be getting a chance to seek revenge if Matt had anything to say about it.

He attacked like a man possessed, lashing out and aiming to do maximum damage. His fury crested like a wave and crashed into the men in front of him time and time again. 

Several minutes later, four very bloody and unconscious men lay on the ground in the alley, and Foggy stood panting in the middle of them.

“Foggy?” Matt asked tentatively, between heaved breathes, (he was panting just as hard as Foggy, if at a slightly slower rate).

His hands reached out cautiously with the nearly irresistible urge to touch the man in front of him. Foggy took a deep breath, put the bat into Matt’s gym bag, (which apparently he had been carrying with him, in addition to his satchel), and stepped closer and into the other man’s touch.

“I’m okay, Matty,” he reassured.

“Foggy,” Matt repeated, unsure of what else to say.

“I’m right here,” he whispered comfortingly.

Matt sighed, but he wasn’t ready to relax yet. The smell of copper filled the air, and while most of the blood spilled seemed to belong to Foggy’s attackers, he was fairly sure he recognized the distinctive smell of Foggy’s blood in the mix.

“I smell blood. Are you hurt?”

“Nothing major. Just a few scrapes and things. . . . So . . .should we tie these guys up until the police get here? Or something like that? . . .Do we even have anything to tie them up with?”

Matt improvised something, and once the small band of men were secured, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Foggy,” he repeated once more, before he ran a trembling hand over Foggy’s hair and down his cheek.

“You’re bleeding,” he said numbly as his fingers passed through a slow trickle of blood trailing down Foggy’s forehead.

Foggy shushed him, and covered Matt’s hand on his cheek with his own. Then he leaned into Matt’s trapped hand, and nuzzled it softly.

“I really am okay. It’s just a tiny cut. There’s barely any blood. You don’t need to worry. We did it, and I’m okay.”

Matt was about to argue that any amount of blood was concerning, when sirens started to approach them.

“I’ll talk to the police, you go home,” Foggy instructed. “I’ll meet you at your apartment afterwards.”

“But you’ll be alone . . .”

Even now, that thought filled Matt with dread. Yes, the immediate problem had been taken care of, but Foggy was bleeding, and wasn’t always honest about how hurt he really was, (yes, Matt was aware pot and kettle comparisons could be made). Besides, if these four had suspected that Foggy might know something about Daredevil, were there others who thought the same? Others from whatever interest they represented, or from some other criminal group, who might think capturing or hurting Foggy might somehow advance their agenda?

“The police are going to be here in a few minutes, they’ll make sure someone checks me over; I was just attacked after all, and I can get one of them to give me a ride home afterwards,” Foggy stated calmly.

It had to be enough for now. The police stopped at the end of the alley, and Matt nodded quickly before scrambling up the nearest fire escape and over the rooftops.

He stopped a couple muggings on his way home, he knew Foggy would probably be dealing with the police for a while, and the idea of sitting at home waiting wasn’t very appealing. He’d probably just wear a hole in his floor, and drive himself crazy. 

Maybe his fighting was a little sloppier than usual, because his mind kept wandering, but thankfully that didn’t seem to make much difference. Both muggers were not even close to a match for him, and he stopped them easily, distracted punches and all.

Finally, he decided that he should head back, since Foggy may actually have beat him home at this point. However, several blocks out, he knew that he had not. There was no one in his apartment, and certainly not Foggy, whose heartbeat he would have heard clearly from that distance. (The memory of Foggy’s struggling and dying heartbeat tried to replay through his mind at the thought, but he shook it off. That hadn’t happened, he told himself firmly, but he knew was going to need some time to recover from previous days.)

He made his way through the roof access door and down into his apartment. Then he changed out of his armor and into a worn t-shirt and sweatpants. He had contemplated putting on something he could wear out of his apartment, so he and Foggy could go get drinks, or maybe even dinner, but the truth was, he really wasn’t up for going out. The evening had been stressful and exhausting, and he wanted a quiet night in with Foggy. He should probably cook or order dinner though. Neither of them had eaten since their early lunch, and even if Matt’s stomach was still tied in knots, Foggy might be hungry.

With that in mind, Matt surveyed his kitchen, and found it be woefully inadequate. His food was running low, (which he supposed was to be expected, given the following day was his normal grocery order delivery day), which severely limited his options, so he decided to opt for ordering food. 

If he chose to order that food from Foggy’s favorite takeout restaurant, and ordered all of Foggy’s favorites, well, maybe he wanted to spoil him a little. That wasn’t so strange, or so terrible. They were in a new relationship after all, and Foggy had had a really difficult evening. 

Matt finished placing the order around the same time he heard Foggy get out of a car in front of the building. He tracked his footsteps and heartbeat as they made their way up the stairs, and opened the door for him while he was still several steps down the hall.

“Thanks,” Foggy whispered as he walked into the apartment.

Matt nodded a ‘you’re welcome’, and felt some of the tension in him unwind as he shut the door behind Foggy and locked it. Foggy was safe. He smelled like iodine and thread, so he was probably more hurt than he had let on before, since it seemed like he had needed stitches, but his heartbeat and breathing were steady, and he was safe.

“How did it go?”

“Well, they arrested the men who attacked me, but Brett refused to take my statement until I let the EMTs check me out. Even though I was fine!”

“I can smell that you needed stitches. That’s not fine, Foggy.

Remind me to thank Brett later.”

“Traitor! You’re not suppose to take my nemesis’ side,” Foggy accused.

“If your nemesis is on the side of keeping you safe and healthy, then I’m on his side,” Matt returned.

“You suck.”

“And you shouldn’t minimize your injuries. You told me you just a had a few scrapes.”

“First of all, the fact that you’re criticizing _anyone_ about their forthcomingness about injuries is hilarious. You know that expression about glass houses and throwing stones?

Second, I **do** just have minor cuts and scrapes. They just decided that couple of them needed stitches.”

“If they needed stitches-“ Matt started.

“Are you sure you want to go there? You’d be creating precedent that I _will_ apply to you in the future,” Foggy warned.

Matt sighed, and fell silent. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Part of Matt wanted to do something childish, like stick his tongue out at Foggy. More of him wanted to be as close to Foggy as possible, so he indulged that part of him by pulling Foggy into his arms. He held him close and kissed his temple.

“I ordered food,” he informed Foggy, while still holding him close. “Ming’s Garden.”

“I thought you hated Ming’s Garden.”

“I don’t hate it. I just-“

A knock cut him off, and he went to answer the door. 

He paid the delivery person, and returned with two plastic bags full of food.

“Are we expecting company?” Foggy asked in bewilderment.

“No.”

“Then why did you order so much food, Matty?”

“I know you like the the number two, the six and the twelve, but I didn’t know which one you would want, and I wanted to order the food before you got here, because we haven’t eaten since lunch, and we ate an hour earlier than normal today, so I thought you might be hungry. Plus, I figured you could just mix and match the best parts of each, and whatever you didn’t eat we could just have as leftovers.”

Foggy cocked his head to the side, and opened his mouth a few times before he finally spoke.

“Thanks, Matt. That’s really thoughtful.”

Matt knew that there was no way that that was what Foggy had planned to say the first few times he decided not to speak, but he found that he wasn’t overly bothered by that thought. Foggy probably found his behavior strange, but at this point he wasn’t going to question it, and that suited Matt just fine.

They took the food to the table, and ate in relative silence. In fact, it was almost an uncomfortable silence. The two of them sitting together without talking wasn’t unheard of, they had lived together for several years during college and law school, so they’d learned to be comfortable together in all different sorts of circumstance. However, Foggy was usually quite talkative, and since they had stopped living together, he nearly always had some sort of tale that he regaled Matt with when they reunited. No matter how uneventful one might think their time apart might be. Not this time though. Instead, there was silence, probably brought on by all the stresses of the evening. 

The problem was, Matt really wanted to hear Foggy’s voice. He could say complete nonsense, the words weren’t important, but the sound of Foggy’s voice was soothing, and a clear sign he was alive.

“What do you think about the Lopez case? Do you think we can get the brother to testify? I think he’s our best shot.” Matt asked awkwardly, when nothing else occurred to him.

“Can we talk about something other than work?” Foggy implored.

“Of course,” Matt said agreeably. “. . .what do you want to talk about?”

“It’s been a long day, how about I describe viral cat videos to you?

I mean, it’s kinda pointless, and our society definitely spend too much time on things like that, but we can join the masses tonight. It’ll be a nice, mindless distraction.

So, what do you say?”

Under any other circumstances, he would have pointed out that no matter how good Foggy’s description was, the whole basis of most cat videos was far too visual for Matt to truly appreciate them. However, all he really wanted at the moment, was to have Foggy close and talking to him, and this would accomplish that perfectly, so he nodded enthusiastically.

Foggy grabbed his computer, snuggled close to Matt, and started the first video. His voice sounded a little tight as he described it, still holding the tension of the night, but a few videos in he started to relax. His voice regained its normal sunshine hue, and he started letting little bouts of laughter break into his commentary, and Matt felt himself uncurl. Maybe they were going to be okay.

~~~~~

They were both too tired and on edge to want to do anything other than sleep after a few dozen videos, so they retreated to Matt’s bed. Matt curled protectively around Foggy, draping himself over his back and drawing him close to his chest, before enveloping him in his arms. Foggy, for his part, accepted his role as little spoon without any protest. Maybe he liked being held, or maybe he was just too tired to fight back, all Matt knew was that this felt right.

Matt delighted in the symphony contained in his arms, listening as closely to Foggy’s signs of life as any orchestra buff would listen to Mozart or Vivaldi. Heart keeping steady time through the whoosh of healthy lungs, and the soft gurgle of intestines absorbing nutrients from their dinner. Alive. Alive. Alive. 

Alive and singing, only for Matt’s ears. A lullaby that quickly led him to a sound and peaceful sleep. A miracle, given what he had witnessed in the last few days.


	5. What day is it today?

Matt awoke early the next morning. The warmth of the sun was still a vague promise too weak to do anything other than linger by the east-facing window, and the traffic outside still wasn’t up to its morning bustle.

His bed was also empty except for him. In fact, he couldn’t hear Foggy’s heartbeat anywhere in the apartment.

He reached out in a panic, and patted the mattress and pillows looking for signs Foggy had been there, but he found none. The bed did smell like him, but that could just be wishful thinking, and it wasn’t like Foggy never sat on Matt’s bed when he helped him after a night of Daredeviling, and the scent lingered, (any amount of Foggy’s scent was immediately noticeable to Matt).

Hoping that he was just disoriented, and Foggy was there but using the bathroom, or getting some water, or something, he rescanned the apartment for Foggy’s heartbeat. Still no luck. In fact, other than the scent of Foggy, Matt wasn’t able to find any sign that Foggy had been there, even after he got out of bed to check.

His heart fell. He had saved Foggy yesterday. He was sure of it. Yet, it seemed like the day had repeated anyway, because he had _definitely_ spent the night with Foggy, and he was nowhere to be found. 

Well, at least that probably meant Foggy was alive and well in his apartment, but it also meant that Matt had no idea how to break the time loop. He had been so sure that saving Foggy was the key. Why else would the day repeat, if not to allow him the chance to save Foggy? What else might end the endless parade of May 19’s?

As Matt was pondering this, he heard his apartment door open, and smelled cinnamon rolls and coffee.

“I knew it!” Foggy exclaimed when he saw Matt standing in the middle of his living room. “You’re one of those people who are too regimented to sleep in on Saturday . . .which is what God intended, by the way, Murdock.”

Matt gaped in Foggy’s direction, both flabbergasted by his presence, and how he could be so cheery so early in the morning. It couldn’t be any later than 6:15. Then his brain replayed Foggy’s cheery words, and latched onto one word.

“Saturday?”

“Yeah, Saturday. You know, the day that typically follows Friday, and is meant for sleeping in, but you’re a weirdo who doesn’t do that, so I got up early and got us breakfast.”

“Saturday?” Matt repeated again, slightly more sure, but still waiting for further confirmation.

“I think you need this,” Foggy commented as he handed Matt a cup of coffee. 

He waited until Matt had taken a few sips, and then spoke again.

“Alright, let’s try this again. It’s Saturday, May 20.”

Matt put his coffee down on the nearest surface, and engulfed Foggy in a desperate embrace.

“Are you alright, Matt?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed cautiously.

“Friday didn’t repeat again, and you’re here, and you’re alive, and we’re . . . I love you. I love you, Foggy. I love you so much.”

Foggy wrapped his arms around Matt and patted him gently on the back.

“I love you, too. 

Now, do you want some cinnamon rolls? 

I went to Sarah’s bakery. I know it’s a bit of a hike, but I’ve never seen you look as happy indulging in a sweet treat as you did when she brought them to the office after we helped her husband with his case.”

Matt nodded and walked over to the table. Then he eagerly took the roll Foggy offered him. He savored a few bites, and smiled to himself, before stealing a kiss from Foggy that tasted like icing. 

“You know what’s great about Saturday’s, Matty? We don’t have to work. We can laze around together and eat cinnamon rolls, or go for a walk in the park, or go back to bed to actually sleep in . . .or go back to bed for other reasons.”

The smirk in Foggy’s tone was obvious.

“I thought you weren’t some floozy, and I needed to woo you first?” Matt joked.

“What? When did I say that?” Foggy asked.

“When we went to Mari . . . Oh! That was another day . . .so I guess, in an alternate reality?”

“I can’t be held accountable for what I said in an alternative reality!”

“I guess not . . .” Matt said solemnly.

“Hey, wipe that look off of your face. I’m fine. None of the other days stuck, instead you’re stuck with me.”

“Not stuck; blessed.”

“You’re a sap,” Foggy said fondly as he leaned in to kiss him.

“You’re mine.”

“True. I am.

Wanna go into the bedroom and finalize that deal? Despite whatever former Foggy said, I’m not that hard to woo. At least not when it comes to a certain Matthew Michael Murdock, my partner in every sense of the word. The love of my life. _He_ can have whatever he likes.”

“All I want is you.”

They exchanged a few more kisses.

“You’ve got me.”

Matt wrapped his arms around Foggy. He was right. He had Foggy, and as long as that was true, Matt was ready to face whatever came next.


End file.
